A House Divided
by Idris388
Summary: Susan had not made it easy for them in those last years. But she was his sister, and Edmund missed her with all his heart.


_A/N: This story was born from the unease I've always had with Polly, Jill and Eustace so openly criticising Susan in The Last Battle, even though I do like those characters a lot. Naturally, I don't condone Susan's actions (and neither do the Pevensies), but to criticise someone openly and harshly in front of their family is neither a fair nor kind thing to do; and I have addressed that here._

 _Disclaimer: Not mine, but Lewis'; may his work live long and inspire wonder in many, as it has for me._

* * *

 **A House Divided**

They all had their favourite rooms in the new Cair Paravel. Lucy loved the Chapel, with its rounded arches and stained-glass windows, and went there nearly every morning. Peter spent a great deal of his time in the war room, for although there were no battles to fight, there were always stories to tell, and so many more now that he had not heard from his fellow warriors.

Edmund's favourite room in Cair Paravel had always been the library, and indeed, it remained so. There were more books than ever, and he had a specific armchair he liked to sit in and read or write or talk at great length with his old tutors.

There was another room in the castle that Edmund visited often, although he never told anyone, not even Peter or Lucy. He imagined that in his days as King, it would have been used as a tea room. The walls were hung blue, with delicate silver embroidery. A magnificent landscape painting hung above the fireplace, and miraculously, there was always tea in the pot and a cup ready for serving. Edmund thought it rather resembled an English parlour, or the Narnian equivalent of it anyway, and perhaps this was why he never told his siblings how much he enjoyed it.

Although, upon reflection, a more truthful reason for his silence was that the room reminded him strongly of Susan.

It was the sort of room that she would have loved – quaint and civilised, with well-chosen furnishings and beautiful details. She would have served tea to guests and to dignitaries and to her family; listened to stories of their days and their adventures.

Susan had been utterly impossible in the years before they had come to Aslan's Country. She had infuriated Peter and reduced Lucy to tears more than a few times. Susan had been stubborn and logical and distant and untruthful and vain and difficult.

She was his sister, and Edmund missed her with all his heart.

* * *

In 1941, in the summertime, their father had come home from the war.

He was tired and weighed down by death and devastation, but uninjured. They went to meet him at the station, and Edmund followed his brother's example and hugged his father before taking his case. Lucy was the last to embrace him, with a laugh, and Mr. Pevensie looked around at them with mixed love and astonishment. "What well-behaved children I've returned to," he said with a smile. "They must have magic out there in the countryside."

"Of a sort," Peter agreed, and Susan and Lucy each linked an arm with their father as they went out of the station.

Arthur Pevensie had given a part of himself to all his children. Peter had his somewhat reckless courage and Susan his composure and Edmund his inquisitive mind and Lucy his goodness. He had not passed down what it was to be a soldier, but they had learned that for themselves nonetheless.

Edmund saw the soldier that his father had become in the set of his shoulders, and in the way his eyes flickered back and forth across the room restlessly, and in the way he roamed the house at night sometimes, beating back demons. It worried Edmund somewhat, and when Peter and Susan and Lucy asked him why, he said, "We can't hide from dad."

They had all frowned at that, but Edmund did not feel the need to explain; and he was correct. Arthur noticed all the things that Helen did not – the way Peter's hand, _still_ , went to his hip whenever there was a loud noise or a shout; the way Lucy held a knife like it was for slashing and stabbing rather than for cutting her toast in the morning; the way Edmund watched everyone and everything with suspicion, and woke often from his own nightmares; the way Susan served the dinner in careful rations without being told, for even though she had not gone to battle often, she had gone to war.

One could hide, Edmund reasoned, odd habits and turns of phrase and strange behaviours. Lucy spoke to the trees sometimes, and they made sure she did so out of sight of the neighbours. But one could not hide the fact that one was a soldier from one's own father, especially not when that father was a soldier himself. "What happened to you out there at Professor Kirke's house, Edmund?" Arthur asked him one night, quietly so that the others could not hear.

Edmund sighed. "Lots of things."

Arthur was clever enough not to say _what kind of things_ , but said instead, "You're very different from when I left you."

Edmund looked his father in the eye, and saw that even though Arthur did not know it, they were now soldier to solider. "War will do that to you. To everyone."

"What did dad say to you?" Susan asked him the next day as they walked to the market.

"He asked me what happened to us."

Susan turned her dark eyes on him. "What did you say?"

Edmund had left his coat at home, and a warm summer wind was playing about his hair and his hands. "Nothing," he said.

Susan was silent for a long moment, then with bitterness in her voice, spoke. "I hate this," she told him. Edmund turned her head a little. The Gentle Queen did not hate easily. "Lying to mum and dad. Living a half-life like this. I hate it."

Edmund could do nothing but press her hand with his own, so he did just that. Later, he knew, it was the beginning, or perhaps the end.

* * *

They returned from their journey on the Dawn Treader in triumph, with stories and laughter and sadness and wonder, and when Susan was back in the country, she and Peter came to see their younger siblings in Cambridge.

Eustace was full of nerves and excitement and when the two elder Pevensies entered the house to greet him, he stammered slightly, at a loss. Edmund, with a wicked smile, said, "Usually, one bows to the High King, and Queen."

And, testament to the immense change in his character, Eustace would have gone to do so immediately had it not been for Peter stepping forward to apprehend him. "Nonsense, Eustace, don't listen to my miscreant brother." He wrapped Eustace in an embrace, and said, "Welcome, cousin."

Eustace beamed at him, and then dipped his head to Susan bashfully. "Hello."

Susan only said, "It's lovely to see you again, Eustace."

They took their dinner outside, with it being such a warm evening, and Eustace had a thousand questions that he wanted to ask. Peter had quite a few of his own. "Aslan said that you might go back?" he asked.

Eustace hesitated, and Lucy answered for him. "Well, he didn't say Eustace wouldn't go back," she said. "Which I think might be all the answer we need."

And Peter looked from Edmund to Lucy with some trepidation. "And you two-" He cut himself off when Edmund grimaced as if he were in pain, although he recovered quite quickly. "Oh, dear."

"Peter, it's alright," Edmund said, and Lucy nodded although there were tears in her eyes.

"Aslan said that he was in this world too," she told them. "And it's our duty to find Him."

Peter reached across the table to take her hand and she sniffled slightly. Susan watched with dark eyes, and said nothing.

* * *

They talked at night when they thought Eustace was asleep. "Do you and Professor Kirke talk of Narnia?" That was Edmund.

"A little," Peter said. "But it was different for him. He saw the beginning. And he was only there for a little while."

"And have you met Polly?"

"No," Peter said. "But I might meet her soon. Would you like to? You and Lucy and Susan could come up. Likely not to stay, but for a meal or something of the like."

"You're nearly finished with your exams anyway, Peter, and we'll all go home when the war's over."

"Whenever that will be," Peter said, and his tone made Eustace shiver slightly. "Do you miss it?" Peter asked the question almost fearfully, and Edmund let out a long breath.

"Yes. Do you?"

"Yes."

And although his cousins spoke of Narnia to each other and to Eustace, there always seemed to be some measure of pain in their words. To have two homes and two lives and be two people was not easy, and although they told such marvellous stories about their time in Narnia's Golden Age, Eustace found that he very much did not envy them.

* * *

It happened one evening in Oxford. He had been admitted for Law, and it had been a long and difficult road getting there, but Edmund's parents were delighted, and his siblings were as well. Peter, Susan and Lucy came to see his flat, and to help him set up ("and decorate!" Lucy exclaimed, which was clearly the most important part).

She placed a lamp at a desk by the small window and looked out over the city. "Oh, Edmund, it's beautiful," she said reverently, and although it was very different from Narnia, Edmund agreed wholeheartedly.

"Edmund," Susan trilled, coming into the room. "Where would you like this?"

Edmund turned, quelling a laugh when he saw what Susan was holding. It was a little porcelain figure of a Centaur, wildly inaccurate, which he had bought on a whim a few years back. "Oh, anywhere, Su; you know I only keep that for nostalgia's sake."

Susan frowned at it. "I don't see what's nostalgic about an ugly horse figurine."

Lucy tucked herself up onto the little windowsill. She was beginning to grow into her height, and the mischievous face that Edmund remembered from their first time in Narnia. "Well, Oreius never had hair like that, to be sure," she said, laughing. "Or pink hooves."

Peter, overhearing this last, laughed as he fell down gracelessly onto the sofa. Ordinarily, Edmund would have made a sniping comment about the lack of coordination in his brother's movement, but now, he was watching Susan, who looked as if she had been struck about the head. "Oreius…" she murmured, staring down at the figure. It had been a long time, Edmund realised, since any of them had spoken about Narnia.

"Yes, Oreius," Lucy said with a grin. Neither she nor Peter had noticed Susan's face. "How horrified he would have been to see that."

"That's somewhat why I bought it, Lu," Edmund murmured distractedly.

"He'd hit you 'round the head with the flat of his sword," Peter laughed. "And you'd deserve it too."

"Can we _not_ talk about this?" Susan said sharply, clutching the figure and turning about aimlessly. "I thought we'd finally gotten past it. Honestly, you're such children."

Peter was rendered speechless for a moment; Lucy stared at her sister in shock. "Susan," she said. "What-"

"Centaurs and swords and battles and knights," Susan said, her voice shrill and scornful. "Can we not just live in _this_ world and _forget_ about Narnia."

There was a blank silence, and Edmund was filled with a cold dread, although somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known this moment was coming for a long time. "Forget about Narnia?" Lucy whispered, horrified. "Susan, how can you say that?"

Susan's eyes were full of tears, but she kept on. "We thought we would stay there forever, but we were only children, and it was just a dream of ours. Just a promise that wasn't real."

Edmund heard Lucy gasp, and thought he might have done so himself as well. All the blood was drained from Peter's face. "Susan, please, that's enough-"

"Yes, it _is_ enough!" Edmund winced as the Centaur figurine smashed on the ground, and Susan skirt swirled over it as she stepped towards the door. "Enough of these games that we played. Enough of all of it."

The door slammed behind her, leaving the three remaining Pevensies in a state of absolute disbelief. Lucy was crying silently and Edmund went to put an arm around her, although he knew it would be of little comfort. None of them spoke, and he stared at the little shards of porcelain on the ground, wondering what on earth came next.

* * *

Edmund set himself to studying the law with vigour and passion. It was good, finally, to be at the age he had always felt inside; to be able to stretch his mind and use it to any means he wished. At night, he would walk through the town, and gaze at the old architecture, thinking of how it was similar, and different, to their Narnian castles.

The first time Lucy tried to speak to Susan about Narnia after the disastrous incident, she had phoned him, distraught, and it took nearly an hour for Edmund to get the story out of her. Susan was set on living in this world; she had convinced herself that Narnia was a child's fantasy.

Edmund's old journals were stored in a box in the attic; he had kept them on and off the past years, recording everything he remembered. He dug them out that evening with renewed urgency and read them feverishly, amending and writing new entries.

It took a long time for Peter to understand why he needed the journals, and even longer for him to understand why Edmund wouldn't let him read them. But it seemed so obvious to Edmund – Peter and Lucy were two of a kind. Their faith had always been strong, and they needed no proof to sustain it. But Edmund and Susan were people of science and logic, and Edmund knew that if anyone were to forget Narnia next, it would be him. The notion frightened him beyond words.

One evening, Peter showed up unannounced to the flat, windswept and with tears in his eyes. "You've been to see her," Edmund said immediately, and let his brother in.

"I don't understand it," Peter cried, burying his face in his hands. "I really don't. How can she forget, or turn her back, or whatever she's done? It's an awful, awful thing."

"Alright," Edmund said. "Give me your coat, Pete. And calm down." Peter uncovered his face and shed his coat, handing it to Edmund.

"Your flat is freakishly tidy, Ed."

"Oh, shut up." Edmund went to the sink and filled the kettle, and Peter lay down and stretched out on the couch. "Tell me about Susan."

Peter's voice was bleak. "Ed, I don't think she's coming back." Edmund said nothing and brought a cup of tea over to the lounge. One of Peter's arms was folded under his head and the other was flung over his face, and Edmund sighed and crouched down next to his brother's head.

"Peter," he said quietly. Then, as Peter did not move, he repeated in a firmer voice, " _Peter_."

"Oh, Ed, what are we going to do?" Peter asked softly, scrubbing a hand across his face, and Edmund saw the tears streaking his face. "What are we going to do?"

Edmund sighed again and reached out a hand, laying it briefly on Peter's head. "I don't know." Peter reached up to grip Edmund's wrist before the younger man could pull away.

"Talk to her. Susan will listen to you."

Edmund pressed his lips together. "Peter, that's unfair."

It was Peter's turn to sigh, and he squeezed Edmund's wrist before letting go. "I know, Ed. I'm sorry." The Sun was setting over Oxford, bathing the little flat in a dusky, dark glow. Edmund loved this time of day; it was a moment of silence and stillness, and sometimes, if he was in the correct mood, he could feel everything click into place around him. Now, he sat on his low coffee table and drank out of his brother's teacup. Peter closed his eyes. "What if Susan doesn't come back?"

There had been females at Cair Paravel during the Golden Age, of all species, including human. But Susan had been the one Edmund had looked to for advice, for comfort and for reassurance. She had been a teacher to him, and a friend as well, and it was terrible and frightening that _that_ version of Susan was gone. But – "She's still our sister," Edmund said. "Maybe that has to be enough."

Peter let out, almost like a moan, "She's our _Queen_."

The thought of Susan the Gentle being lost to them made tears prickle the backs of Edmund's eyes, but he forced them down with another mouthful of tea. "Peter," he said, "she's our sister. She's family." He put the cup down; the sound of porcelain on wood somewhat shattered the blanketed silence. "We have to let her be whatever she wants to be."

* * *

If there were a list of things that Edmund was compiling about Susan's poor deeds, _you made Lucy cry_ would have been top of the list. But Lucy never let the Valiant Queen get too far away from her, and dried her tears and said, "Well, there's nothing to be done about it."

"You're taking this better than I thought you would," Edmund said cautiously.

Lucy was sitting on the floor of his flat, drinking weak tea with an abominable amount of sugar. "I think I've been taking it rather wretchedly, actually. Mum and dad are a bit worried about me."

"That's just because Peter isn't living at home. If he were, mum and dad would think that you're an absolute ray of sunshine." Lucy stuck her tongue out at Edmund and they both laughed. "How are you, really?"

Lucy tucked her knees up under her chin. "I understand why Susan needs to commit to living here," she said quietly, pulling at the rug at her feet. "Sometimes I even think it would be easier." Edmund sat cross-legged on his lone armchair and said nothing. "But I don't understand why she feels the need to deny Narnia's existence. Surely she can find a way to live this life and still stay true to Aslan as well."

Edmund leant his head back on the chair. "I think it hurts her too much."

"It hurts the rest of us too," Lucy pointed out. "All the time."

Edmund glanced down at his sister, backlit in the glow of his lamp, and shifted a little so that she could squeeze into the gap beside him. "I know it does," he said as she snuggled into his side, although both were far too big to be sitting on the same chair. "But Susan's just dealing with it in her own questionable way." Lucy rested her head on his shoulder and he squeezed her hand. "And maybe one day she'll find her way back to us. After all, I did."

Lucy wriggled slightly so that she could look up at him, her blue eyes glowing. "You really are the best and wisest of us, Edmund Pevensie." Edmund flushed at the praise and shook his head, but Lucy continued. "You are. You learn from your mistakes, which is much more difficult that people think." She settled into his side again.

"I learnt from my mistakes because Aslan taught me how," Edmund murmured. "And he'll teach Susan too, just you wait."

Lucy's voice was nearly inaudible as she spoke next. "I just hope Susan will listen."

* * *

The first thing Jill said when they came through the door was, "Susan didn't come with you?"

Edmund avoided her eye and left Peter to converse with her, and instead went straight to Lucy and pulled her in for a hug. "What's this?" she asked with a laugh and he rested a cheek on her warm hair. "Did Peter speak to you about Su?"

"Yes, a few times," he murmured in her ear, careful not to let anyone else overhear.

Lucy kept her voice equally quiet. "Have you seen her?"

"Just the other day," he replied, releasing her. He waved to Professor Kirke over Lucy's head, who gave him a jovial smile. "I didn't mention Narnia. It was…alright."

Near the door, Polly was also commenting on Susan's conspicuous absence. "And what excuse did she give this time? Another party, is it?"

Peter laughed his courtier's laugh, and flashed the smile of the High King. "Oh, you know Susan. Parties left and right."

Edmund gritted his teeth and Lucy, sensing his sudden tension, put a hand on his arm. "You know they don't mean anything by it, Ed. They never knew Susan in Narnia."

And Edmund knew that she was right; knew that Jill and Eustace and Polly and the Professor had never known the time they had in Narnia, had never known how formidable a queen Susan had been in her own right. But he had been defending Susan his entire life, and habits did not break overnight. "I know that," he muttered. "But she's still our sister."

They ate (Polly made a delicious roast), and talked of their time in Narnia, and of their adventures and their dear friends. "I say, Eustace," Peter said, having a drink of wine and smiling at their cousin. "If you go to Narnia one more time, you'll have been there as many times as Ed and Lu. You'll beat me, and Susan, by one."

Eustace smiled. "I don't think Susan would mind too much, at least."

"Here we go," Edmund said, so quietly that only Lucy heard him, and gave him a warning glance.

"I don't think she'll mind," Jill commented. "In fact, I think it's the Narnians who should mind, really. She was their Queen after all, and now she doesn't even believe they're real! If I were a Narnian, I would be jolly offended."

"Well then, isn't it lucky you aren't one," Edmund said before he could stop the words from slipping out. Lucy kicked him under the table. They all looked at him in surprise, except for Peter, and especially Eustace who knew Edmund well enough to know how well-measured his words were, but not well enough to understand how he regarded his elder sister.

"I say, Ed," Eustace commented. "There's no need to be sharp."

To avoid having to speak, Edmund lifted his own wine glass to his lips and let the bitter taste permeate his mouth. Lucy looked at him and he could see that she was waiting for his silver tongue, and chivalrous manners, return to him. Peter intervened. "The Narnians are a forgiving people," he said lightly. "And in the end, I am sure they would understand."

"Begging your pardon," Polly said. "But the Narnian people would have every right to harbour anger towards Queen Susan, and I'm sure that if they knew, they would do." _How would you know_ , rose up behind Edmund's lips but he swallowed hard around a mouthful of wine. Lucy, knowing her brother well, kicked him again, and he glared at her.

"Oh, she just wants to be a grown-up," Jill exclaimed. It was a statement that had been uttered many times around the same table, although never by the Pevensies. "Really; who cares about clothes and parties and dancing and all the rest of it; it's silly and vain."

"Edmund," Peter began, seeing the look on his brother's face. In the same instant, Eustace looked across to his dark-haired cousin, and laid a hand on Jill's arm to make her stop talking. But they did not need to, for Edmund was already regretting his first outburst, and took another mouthful of wine, hoping that the conversation would shift from Susan quickly.

It did not. Somehow, although both Lucy and Peter tried to steer conversation away from their sister, it routed back again and again, and Edmund drank so much wine that he began to feel a little lightheaded. Professor Kirke rose to fetch some more plates from the kitchen and Edmund asked him for a glass of water. "If I'm not careful, I'm going to get drunk," Edmund muttered to Lucy, who squeezed his hand.

"If your sister really wishes to grow up," Polly was saying to Peter, who looked as if he was taking it rather well, despite the way his hands clenched at his cutlery, "perhaps she might try understanding herself rather than trying to be someone else."

"I think trying to be someone else has worked out quite well for some of us," Peter replied politely, looking first towards Edmund, then Eustace, then at Polly herself.

Polly looked rather taken aback for a moment, and Edmund remembered that she had only ever been to Narnia for a day. "You two grew up for real," she said to the two young men. "And Susan's just playing at it, in a rather stupid manner."

"My sister," Edmund said suddenly, for he could stay silent no longer, "likes to dress well and go to parties. How on earth does that make her stupid?"

"Edmund," Lucy said, "Polly didn't say that Susan was stupid. She just said that-"

"-that," Eustace said, clearly emboldened by Jill and Polly's statements, "Susan's always thought she was clever, but clearly she's not _half_ as clever as she thinks she is!"

And that, in the court of Narnia's Golden Age, would have been slander. Swords would have been drawn, but Edmund had no sword, so he settled for his next best weapon. "Eustace, you had better have a care. What gives you the right," he said coldly, and was aware of everyone looking round at him in shock. For he was not just Edmund Pevensie, Oxford Law student anymore; he was King Edmund the Just, and he had won wars and he had laid judgements upon criminals worse than Jill and Polly and Eustace could ever imagine. He had saved Susan from the White Witch and Rabadash, and from doom at the Ettins' hands, and it was not so she could be slandered at a dinner table in the Professor's house. "Our sister may no longer be a Friend of Narnia, but by Aslan's law, she is still a Queen, and it is not for any of you to insult her."

Jill was cowed into silence, but Polly was a woman and had lived much longer than Edmund, and in his rational mind, he understood that nobody would appreciate being reprimanded by someone who amounted to no more than a child. "If she is a Queen by Aslan's law, what do you think Aslan would have to say about this?"

But it was the wrong thing to say, for Lucy would take no insult to Aslan. She made a small noise and the pressure of her small hand disappeared from his arm, and Edmund turned furious eyes on the rest of the table. "I would not presume to know what Aslan would say about Susan, but I suspect if and when he does have something to say, it will be to Susan herself. Aslan would say that _no one_ is told any story but their own." Peter and Lucy both stirred with memory at the words, and Edmund folded his arms, his voice like ice. "And since you do not know, you have no right to judge."

They stared at Edmund, open-mouthed, for a long moment. _They called him the Lion's Justice_. Eustace seemed to remember this now and said in a small voice, "Edmund, we-"

But Edmund hated being the centre of attention, and even more the fact that the longer he was away from Narnia, the less control he had over his temper. He put down his wine glass and, avoiding Lucy's sympathetic eyes, he left the house.

* * *

He knew where to hide so that Peter wouldn't find him, walking between trees so dense and shaded that they reminded him of his own woods, but he always went home before midnight, because that was the agreement that the three of them had struck.

Arthur and Helen had travelled to Cambridge to see Eustace's parents, so the house was empty besides the three children, and Edmund sat down in the armchair closest to the fire without fear of being scolded. It was a few minutes before he heard anything; then there were steps, too heavy to be Lucy's. He sighed. "Peter, I'm sorry."

Peter leaned over the back of the armchair and pressed swift lips to Edmund's head. "You don't have anything to apologise for."

"Really?" Edmund asked, his voice less serious now. "Is that how a King of Narnia behaves? Or a knight? Scolding women and younger boys in civilised company?"

"They insulted Her Queen," Peter said. "So one might argue that's exactly how a King and a knight of Narnia should behave."

Edmund sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Queen Susan the Gentle can defend herself well enough. I did it because Su's my sister, and it's my job to defend her. To everybody."

"Not to me," Peter pointed out.

Edmund frowned. "I said everybody. Are you everybody?" he demanded rhetorically. Peter grinned his response, and Edmund scrubbed at some dirt under one of his nails. "Anyway, I shouldn't have lost my temper. I know they didn't mean anything by it."

"One hardly makes insults without meaning anything by it," Peter said lightly, and Edmund could hear that it bothered his brother just as much as it bothered him.

"When did you get a better handle on your temper than I do?" Edmund demanded. "Now _that_ is something remarkable."

"Oh, quiet," Peter said, ruffling Edmund's hair before collapsing into another armchair. "Do you know, it didn't used to bother me; their comments about Su." Edmund lifted his eyebrows and waited for Peter to continue. "I thought they were right about her. That she was vain and silly and a fool for turning her back on Narnia and on Aslan."

"But?"

Peter sighed. "But now I think perhaps you're right. I like Polly and Jill; I do. But they don't know what it is to be a Queen of Narnia." Edmund snorted in agreement. A Queen of Narnia would never have made a comment as tactless as _she just wants to be a grown-up_. "And as much as Susan shouldn't have allowed this to happen to herself, she served Narnia for years and years, in ways that they never did or could. She always came when Narnia called. And now she wants to live this life." Peter's blue eyes reflected the firelight glassily and he shrugged. "We can hardly fault her for that. Even if she is going about it in all the wrong ways."

Edmund looked across at Peter and saw that they both understood very well. "Susan's our sister," Peter said finally, repeating what Edmund had told him over and over. "We have to love her no matter what."

"We don't _have_ to, Peter," Edmund corrected. "But we will anyway. Isn't that what love is?"

"Yes," Peter said with a smile. "You're right."

Edmund grinned at this. "I'm always right."

* * *

The last time Edmund saw his older sister was in her flat in London. He knew better than to tell her of the plan they had, or the vision of Tirian, or the words that Jill and Polly had spoken about her. Instead, he asked her about her plans, and she spoke rather hastily about a dance and a drink and a dress that she was planning to wear. "Do you like it?" she asked, pulling it out of the closet.

Edmund smiled at her. His heart was beating oddly in his chest, but he said truthfully, "I think you're going to look beautiful in whatever you wear."

Susan frowned at him, not crossly, and said finally, "Thank you." Then, after the moment had passed, said, "Lucy phoned last night. She said you're all taking a train trip somewhere this afternoon."

Edmund cleared his throat. "Yes," he said. "And if you'd like-"

"Oh, Edmund, I don't think I will," Susan said in a voice as soft as velvet, and Edmund nodded. "You understand, don't you?"

He was a lawyer, he was a politician, he was a king, but he could not lie to her. "Not really, Su," he replied quietly.

"Well," she said brightly and falsely, "never mind, then. But you all have a darling time, won't you?"

Edmund watched her refill his tea, and adjust her skirt. "I'm sure we will."

"I'm frightfully sorry to rush you, Ed, but I'm awfully busy with preparations and all-"

"It's alright, Susan," Edmund interrupted her. The tea was warm in his hands, and even though he knew Susan wanted him to leave, he couldn't help but stay a few minutes longer. "It's alright."

Susan stopped and looked across the room at her brother, and they met dark gazes. Aslan had taught him long ago that there were few things greater in life than forgiveness, and he had forgiven Susan a long time ago. Edmund had a great many things to say to her, but he found that he could not say any of them. Instead, he simply said again, "It's alright."

And Susan said again, "Thank you."

Edmund rose and placed his half-empty mug down on the table, collecting his coat from near the door. Susan no longer wished to be a Queen, but she was still his sister, and he caught her up in an enormous hug, the folds of his coat crushed between them, and Susan gave a surprised sound, but did not pull away. "Susan, I love you very much," he said. "And I always will."

He was not prone to outbursts of affection, and wondered extensively later whether it was premonition. And Susan gripped the back of his coat and said in a voice that might have been tearful, "Me too."

* * *

After the initial magic of Aslan's Country had worn off (which had taken a long while, and still, the magic lingered in their bones), Edmund had thought of Susan. For she was alone now, and had no family left, and he wondered whether she was lonely.

"Son of Adam."

Edmund turned so quickly that he almost spilt his tea. There, in the doorway, sat Aslan, and Edmund got to his feet to bow immediately. "Aslan."

The Lion padded into the room silently, weaving his way somehow between the furniture to the rug before the fireplace. "You come here often." It was not a question, and Edmund did not feel the need to respond. "It reminds you of Susan."

There was a thrum of guilt in his chest, for Edmund knew what Susan had done in the years following their visits to Narnia. "Aslan-"

"Edmund," Aslan said, and his eyes were full of kindness and a terrible understanding. "There is no shame in this. I, too, think often of your sister."

Astonished, Edmund raised his head and stared at the Lion. Aslan looked as serene as he always did, but there was something sad about the way he had spoken. "Sir," Edmund said, then found his throat dry. "Sir, I-"

"She is dear to me," Aslan continued, a rumble in his voice. "She has always been dear to me."

Edmund had thought of asking the question many times, and now, alone with the Lion, found the courage that he needed. "Will we see her again?"

"All things in their time, my dear Son."

Edmund took this to mean yes, although Aslan did not say it explicitly. "But how?" he wondered. Susan had been so adamant in her denial of Narnia.

Aslan swished his tail; Edmund sat back down in his chair and picked up his tea again. "Your sister's story is not yet finished, but I shall never forsake her."

The issue, as Edmund saw it, was not Aslan forsaking Susan. "But-"

"There are many paths, Edmund; always. And you will never know anyone's story but your own – this you understand, do you not?" Edmund nodded. "Your sister walks her own path. Nobody knows how that path may be, but you need not be concerned with her wellbeing."

"But-"

Again, Aslan interrupted Edmund. "All of us wish our families to be safe and well." Edmund swallowed past the lump in his throat. "But you need have no fear, Son of Adam, for I shall be with your sister always. She is not to be alone."

"Thank you, Aslan," Edmund said quietly. Aslan once again bestowed an expression of understanding upon him, before rising to his paws again and turning his great head and shoulders towards the door. Edmund sipped his head; it tasted sweet, with honey, just like Susan had always made it. "Sir," he said suddenly, sitting forwards on his chair, and Aslan stopped. "You said nobody knows how Susan's path may be, but-" Edmund hesitated before pressing on, although he knew that the question was likely an impossible one. "What about its end? Is it to us? Is it to _you_?"

Edmund had never been as comfortable speaking his mind with Aslan as Lucy had; nor was he as adept at reading the Lion's moods and thoughts, but now, he could have sworn that Aslan was smiling. "Son of Adam," the wonderful, gentle voice came, like a whisper of gold and silver on a high summer breeze, "All paths are to me."

* * *

 **The End**

* * *

 _A/N: (This story links in a little here and there with my very first Narnia fanfiction: "Keep Faith, Love, Do Not Forget", which is also published on this site and under this pen name.)_


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